We meet on the seam of a cloud and the curving horizon the land leans away from. The country is unfamiliar. Much like our lives, suspended for a moment at this point of intersection of pleasure and pain. After crossing the river, you crushed what you thought was a snake but turned out to be nothing. I must tell you something: one country is much like another, irregular borders in constant negotiation. Much like our lives, the small space we make for ourselves in the slow drifting years. I can still feel the wind wrapped around my heart on a cold spring morning, even here know the hard sound of rain.
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